


permission to ask forgiveness

by sinspiration



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blindfolds, Dom!Shiro, Dom/sub, I love them and I love them loving each other, M/M, Praise Kink, Service Top Shiro, Sex Toys, probably, sub!Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 19:38:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinspiration/pseuds/sinspiration
Summary: Keith forgets, sometimes. He’ll wind himself so tightly holding on to negatives, packing every bitter little thought behind gritted teeth, because he forgets, even now, that he doesn’t have to anymore. He doesn’t need to keep it all in until he can’t help but lash out.(Keith has a bad day. Shiro takes care of him.)





	permission to ask forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akaiiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaiiko/gifts).



> What is this? I don't know? I don't know?? Don't tell me what to do.
> 
> (KAII, IS THIS ENOUGH OF WHAT WE TALKED ABOUT)

Keith forgets, sometimes. He’ll wind himself so tightly holding on to negatives, packing every bitter little thought behind gritted teeth, because he forgets, even now, that he doesn’t have to anymore. He doesn’t need to keep it all in until he can’t help but lash out. 

All he knows is that he wakes up in an empty bed because Shiro had an early morning training session, and it’s from nightmares about how everything around him turns to dust.

He spends the day in picky meetings with dignitaries that don’t require  _ him _ but require what he represents. He isn’t good at being stuck in rooms for people to talk around him, and when they do ask him for input, the tone is condescending with hints to how being able to fight means not being able to think. He bites his tongue over and over again to keep from snapping, because he’s older and means more and it’s important not to prove the point they’re trying to make.

When he finally escapes to the training hall, he’s unable to lose himself in it like usual. It just frustrates him more, a constant vibration under his skin acting as a distraction. When he forces himself to stop because he can’t risk injury, he feels no better. It’s wrong, all wrong, and he can’t fix it, and he’s furious.

He barely eats at dinner, picks sourly at his food, berating himself for wasting it.

Next to him, Shiro presses a hand to his shoulder. And it is a  _ press _ , gentle but firm, not just a touch, but a pressure. “Why don’t you get ready to turn in for the night.”

It’s a statement not a question, almost an order but just shy. Keith bristles and snaps out, “I’m fine,” because he is, he can do this, he can pretend to be a person and eat his fucking dinner. 

The hand moves from his shoulder to the back of his neck, giving it a light squeeze. “Keith.” Keith refuses to make eye contact. “Keith,” Shiro says again.

He nearly flinches at the sound of his fork dropping to his plate as he pushes away from the table, because it sounds petulant and he hates it. But when he stands, Shiro smiles at him like he finally did something right today. It makes the thing curling in his gut into something almost pleasant.

He goes. Changes into one of the shirts he’s stolen from Shiro enough times that it’s his now, soft with wear, and with a stretched neck from having it pulled down so often to bear skin. Brushes his teeth. Can’t get into bed yet because it’s simply too early and would just frustrate him more, so he goes to sit on the couch and fidgets and tries to read and can’t concentrate and has to press his hands over his eyes and growl to himself, but then the door opens and Shiro walks inside, closing it quietly behind him.

Keith uncurls from his position on the couch, rising up onto his knees as he watches Shiro toe off his shoes and take off his jacket. He’s still got the thrum under his skin, a turmoil that almost makes his stomach hurt, and he sucks in a loud, angry breath because he doesn’t  _ want _ it.

“Hey baby,” Shiro says as he comes closer. He threads his fingers through Keith’s hair and tightens just a little, not enough to hurt, not even close, but enough to be grounding. “C’mere.”

Keith lets Shiro tilt his face up for the kiss, tries to make it rough and biting because that’s how he feels, but Shiro gives his hair a warning tug and Keith stills. The kiss is deep but gentle, Shiro sucking on his lower lip and licking into his mouth, taking all the control while he holds Keith’s head steady.

Eventually Keith starts shifting again, impatient and simmering. He opens his mouth, probably for a harsh comment he wouldn’t mean, but Shiro moves the hand in his hair down the side of his face to circle his throat. Squeezes once, still gentle. “Bedroom,” Shrio murmurs. “I’ll be there in a second.”

It’s at least something to do, even if it’s not enough. Keith grits his teeth and gets off the couch when Shiro steps back. He misses the warmth and the touch and wishes he were better, good enough to keep it. Shiro’s hand reaches out to cup his cheek, leaning down for another brief kiss. “Go on, baby.”

Keith goes.

He flings himself down on the bed with probably more force than necessary. Crosses his arms to grip at his biceps, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He lets go once he realizes what he’s doing. He doesn’t like bruises he doesn’t earn honestly.

It’s probably only a few minutes later that Shiro enters, but it feels like forever. He’s carrying a tray with a couple bottles of water, some granola bars, a bunch of grapes. Keith braces himself for being told to eat. Right now it would feel like a punishment, but he supposes he deserves it. He didn't eat dinner.

Shiro just sets the tray down on a night table. He clicks on the stand lamp, then turns off the overhead light before sitting down next to Keith. “Come here.”

Keith crawls into his lap to straddle him and pushes his face into the join of Shiro’s neck and shoulder, arms coming up to circle Shiro. Most likely squeezing too hard, but he’s burning up and Shiro doesn’t say anything, just strokes a soothing hand down Keith’s back before coming up to cup the back of Keith’s neck. “I wonder what I should do with you.”

Shiro never says that and means it, because he always knows exactly what he’s going to do. Whether that’s going in with a fully formulated plan or taking cues to stay one step ahead, he always  _ knows. _ Sometimes Keith finds it comforting, but it currently feels like a tease he doesn’t want. He bites down on Shiro’s shoulder. It’s muted by the fabric of Shiro’s shirt, but he’s pretty sure it gets the point across.

Surer, when Shiro’s hand tightens on the back of Keith’s neck before bodily picking him up and turning him. He shoves Keith down onto his stomach on the bed, gives Keith just a moment to pillow his head in his arms, then the hand settles back onto his neck for one long second before squeezing. A punctuation. “Stay.”

Keith trembles a little, already wound up just because of the day he’s had, not even really aroused yet but still needing a form of release. He hears one of the side table drawers open following by the noise of Shiro rooting around and the faint clink of metal, which means that Shiro’s opened the bottom drawer. Keith trembles a little harder, worrying at his lower lip. There's nothing to keep him from digging though that drawer himself, but mostly he leaves it to Shiro. He's not up to date on what's in it.

Eventually a few items land on the bed. Keith could turn to look, but Shiro told him to stay, so he does. He does, he does, he does, because he  _ can. _

“Hands,” Shiro says, and Keith shifts just enough so that he can offer them up. He’s expecting maybe to be tied, a punishment-not-punishment for trying to be rough earlier with the kiss, for the mean words that hadn’t quite tripped out over his tongue but no doubt Shiro could hear anyway, for the bite moments ago. But Shiro slips his hands into the soft bondage mitts they only use once in a while, because for Keith they’re worse than being tied, his hands free but useless. Once that’s done, Shiro has him pick his head up so Shiro can slip on the padded blindfold. Keith sucks in a breath as it’s settled into place. He needs this, needs to be taken apart. Trusts Shiro to put him back together.

Shiro threads his fingers through Keith’s hair again, tugging him up onto his elbows for another kiss, this one messier. Keith manages to lose himself in it, gasps when Shiro mouths under his jaw, sucking the skin of Keith’s neck into his mouth. Not quite enough to bruise, because that’s something Shiro is careful about, but it’s a promise for other, less visible places. He pulls away then, to push Keith’s head back down. “Back onto your stomach.” Followed by, “Good boy,” when Keith goes, pillows his head in his arms again, the mitts restricting and present.

Keith bites his lip to hold in the snarl, because he didn’t do anything that deserves praise yet. He didn’t earn it. 

But Shiro believes he did something good just from following that simple order. Shiro believes in the good in Keith. It makes Keith desperate to show him more, to show him how good he really can be. Because he can be, he’s _able_ to be, Shiro lets him become more than this twisted up thing trying to bare his teeth at the world.

There’s a firm hand between his shoulder blades followed by a kiss pressed to the nape of his neck. Then teeth close around the skin and bite, the sound eliciting another gasp from Keith, and he feels Shiro smile against him, obviously pleased. Keith grew up quiet. A silent little stormcloud,  _ don’t notice me _ until rage took over. Too quiet or too loud. He had to learn to make noise, or rather, he had to relearn how to let himself.

Shiro loves eliciting sounds, and counts every single one as a victory. Praises Keith when he gets louder, when he lets himself go enough to stop keeping it all in. He can’t yet right now, hates that he can’t yet, and his fingers ache with the strain of being restricted while trying to curl into fists.

A hand threads through the hair at the nape of his neck and then tightens, not quite a pull. Just enough to make Keith’s scalp prickle before it slides away and Shiro shifts on the bed. He makes his way down Keith’s spine with a trail of kisses and nips, occasionally sucking hard enough that Keith arches into it with breathy exhales, until he reaches the swell of Keith’s ass.

He receives a  sharp bite on his right cheek before a tongue soothes the sting away, and then Shiro spreads him, licking over his hole without preamble. Keith’s breath hitches even if it’s not a surprise; Shiro loves to eat him out and Keith’s reactions are apparently nothing but encouraging, Shiro taking his sweet time until Keith is a crying, sweating mess. It’s an easy way to take Keith apart, but even as Keith’s breathing goes shaky under the ministrations he’s struck with the horrible thought that it won’t be enough. Not right now. And then he’s trying not to be disappointed by that, along with frustration at himself because why can’t it be enough? Why can’t he just take what Shiro gives him and be happy, why does he have to be so fucking needy, why–

Another bite, sudden, this time to his inner thigh, a deep press of teeth that will most definitely leave a mark and feels like a reprimand. Keith can’t help the questioning sound that escapes him, and it’s small. It’s a small sound. He did something wrong and he doesn’t know what it was.

Metal strokes over his skin. “You’re tensing up, baby. You’re not here with me.”

Keith swallows around a too-thick tongue and tries to force out an apology. “I–” he can do this, he can talk, he’s spent the entire damn day talking to no one who really listened “I–” 

It’s too hard, and he stops, and he  _ hates it. _ He did something wrong. He wasn’t focusing on Shiro. He  _ still _ isn’t focusing on Shiro, too busy with himself, and he needs to apologize.

When he opens his mouth again, it sounds too close to a sob.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m not upset.” A kiss is pressed to the small of his back.

“I want to be good,” Keith manages to whisper. It’s all he wants.

“You’re going to be,” Shiro says. He sounds so sure. “You’re going to be so good for me, sweetheart.”

Keith clings to Shiro’s belief in him as Shiro directs him to spread his legs wider, as he hears the familiar click of a cap. Shiro’s already opened him up with his tongue, so the slick, bulbous press of something against his entrance isn’t too much, but it skirts the edges. “There you go,” Shiro murmurs as he pushes the thing in. A round bead, from the shape and feel. “Look at you, taking this so well.”

The words wind warmth through him as the bead settles. Immediately there’s another pushing at his hole. It feels just a little bigger than the first one, spreading him before it pops inside.

Keith whines a little, shifting on the bed as Shiro starts to push in another bead. It’s a lot very quickly, and he’s definitely present now, thoughts narrowing to the two beads inside of him, the third one stretching him even more open. And Shiro is pushing it in so  slowly,  Keith feeling every millimeter as his body goes hot.

He tries to move and take the thing in all at once, but Shiro smacks him on the ass, eliciting a punched-out moan as it makes him clench around the two and a half beads inside. “Ah-ah,” Shiro admonishes. “Be good.”

Keith gasps and stills, his mitted hands scrabbling uselessly, unable to even grab at the sheets for something to hold onto. The third bead finally pops all the way in. “There,” Shiro says, voice low and satisfied. “Knew you’d be so good.”

There’s a fourth bead. Keith cries out at the feel of it pressing on his hole. The beads aren’t small and they keep getting bigger, and he’s already got three inside of him. He trembles with the effort of keeping still, of not pulling his legs closed. Shiro’s right arm is skating up and down his back, feathery light touches that make his skin prickle with sensitivity. “You can take it, baby. I know you can.” Keith shudders, whining high in his throat as it spreads him wide, wide, wide, and then it, too, is in.

He takes a great, heaving breath and tries to stay perfectly still. He’s so full it’s hard to think and he wants to thrash, to claw at the bedspread, rut against the sheets, but he’s supposed to stay still and he’s doing it, he’s listening--

He chokes down a scream at the now-familiar nudge at his entrance. “What number is this?” Shiro asks, petting Keith’s thigh. Keith struggles to parse the question, and Shiro tugs on the string attached to the beads. Keith jerks, crying out at the sensation, before trying to quiet his panting so he can hear Shiro ask again, “What number is this, baby?”

“F-five,” he gasps out. He’s pretty sure. “Five,” he repeats.

“Good boy.” There’s so much warmth in Shiro’s voice. It settles over Keith like a blanket. “God, you’re so perfect. Taking them all so well. Taking everything I give you.” The fifth bead is the largest one yet, and Keith whimpers as it breaches him. How many  _ are _ there? He’s already so full with them, and every tiny movement shifts them around inside, sending sparks down his spine.

He desperately tries not to squirm. His breath is loud in his ears, his hands slick with sweat. His legs are shaking with the effort to keep still. The bead finally joins the others.

A near-shriek tears from his throat when he feels the sixth bead. He can’t stop himself from shrinking away, and it’s his own disobedience that finally breaks it all down. His world is Shiro and doing what Shiro wants, and he wants Keith to stop fighting for control. To release the white-knuckled grip he has on his thoughts and his voice and his body. Shiro wants surrender.

For Shiro, it’s easy to give. 

“Please,” he begs, tears starting to soak into the blindfold. “Please, I’m sorry, please–”

“It’s just this last one,” Shiro says, soothing. “You can take it. I know you can. You’re so good, baby. You’re always so good.”

“Please,” he sobs, and this time it’s a request to prove himself.

Shiro kisses under Keith’s ribcage, followed by the slow press of the bead stretching out Keith’s hole. He sobs all through it, tries to keep breathing because Shiro tells him to, and then it finally, finally slips all the way inside.

He lies there, chest heaving, and doesn’t even register that Shiro has moved until he feels arms around him, pulling him into Shiro’s lap. It’s sweet torture moving while stuffed to the brim, even better to be so full while safe in Shiro’s arms. Shiro brushes the sweaty hair off Keith’s forehead and strokes his hands down Keith’s back while Keith cries into his shoulder, making a mess of Shiro’s shirt. “I know,” Shiro murmurs, fingers running through Keith’s hair. “I know. “

He’s so good to Keith, and there’s suddenly the awful temptation to try to wrestle back control. To stop crying before he runs out of tears or to choke down his whimpers. He shouldn’t be showing this side of himself to anyone, certainly not to Shiro, who only deserves the best of what Keith can give.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Shiro says, pressing a kiss to Keith’s shoulder. His voice is still steady, but it’s gotten deeper, almost a rumble. His left arm is holding Keith tight to his chest, but his right hand has started wandering lower. “So perfect, god.” It slams Keith back out of his own head. Shiro loves him and Shiro loves  _ this. _ This is what Shiro wants. Keith allowing himself to be vulnerable. This is part of being good. 

One of Shiro’s large, metal fingers start to circle his entrance, occasionally pressing lightly at Keith’s rim or tugging gently at the string hanging out of him. Every movement shoots up Keith’s spine, a live-wire circuit of sensation that leaves him struggling to pull air into his lungs in between the high-pitched moans that keep escaping him.

“You feel that?” Shiro asks as the tip of his finger dips in, pressing on all the beads and making them shift. Keith cries out and paws feebly at him, unable to grip or clutch him closer. “You feel how much you’ve taken for me? How full you are?”

“Sh-Shiro,” Keith gasps. It’s so much. It’s so  _ much. _

“What is it, baby? What do you want?”

He whines and shakes his head. He didn’t have a want, other than to just say Shiro’s name.

Shiro seems to understand. His teeth close around Keith’s ear and he tugs, finger starting to thrust in and out, pushing the beads around inside. All Keith can do is take it as he pants around broken moans. He’s on fire, utterly and completely consumed. Lost in it, and the smell and feel of Shiro all around him. 

Eventually the finger withdraws. It takes Keith a moment to notice because he’s started to cry again. A hand cups his chin and draws him in for a messy kiss before Shiro starts to lower him down, on his back this time. 

Keith cries out in distress as he’s let go, reaching out with his useless, bound hands, still blind. “Please! Please, don’t--”

“Not going anywhere, sweetheart,” comes the reassurance. The sound of shifting, and then hands settle on Keith’s inner thighs, spreading his legs. Keith takes big, wet gulps of air as he feels the familiar tug of the string attached to all the beads. “You’re just going to give me these back. I know you can. You’re so good.”

Each slight shift and press liquifies Keith’s spine. But he--he can try. He’s being good. Shiro says he’s being good. He desperately wants to keep being good. He nods shakily.

“Slowly, now,” Shiro says, stroking his hip as he start to gently pull the string. Keith digs his heels into the bed and arches his back. He can do this. “Come on, relax. That's it.”

The sixth bead feels even bigger being pulled out than it did being pushed in, and Keith chokes on a sob as it stretches him at its widest. Shiro keeps petting him with his other hand, murmuring his approval. The bead pops out. 

There are five more inside of him.

One by one by one Shiro coaxes the beads out. Keith is dizzy with it, no sense of time, and it goes on for so long that when the last bead leaves him, the emptiness feels sudden and unnerving. 

Then Shiro fills him up again, three of his warm, thick fingers pressing back into his hole, reaching in deep and stroking with purpose. Keith  _ wails, _ does so again when Shiro’s other hand wraps around his cock. He’s been hard since this all started, but it was in the back of his mind, another sensation to join all the others. Now, with Shiro’s full attention, Keith can’t do anything but beg for another release.

Shiro gives it to him. Keith whites out as his mouth shapes Shiro’s name, and it goes on and on and on. 

He sinks, trembling.

It’s only distantly that Keith registers the fingers slipping out of him, of being pulled back into Shiro’s lap. He whimpers, oversensitive, and tucks his face into Shiro’s chest.

A kiss is pressed to his sweaty hair. “That was so perfect. So good, baby.” A hand strokes down his back. “Look up for me?”

Keith takes one last deep inhale of Shiro’s scent and tilts his face up. A soft cloth wipes over his cheeks and under his nose. As soon as it’s gone, there’s a mouth covering his own. Keith melts into the kiss. 

“So sweet,” Shiro says against him “My sweet boy.”

Keith hums in pleasure, blearily aware of Shiro taking off the mitts, curling and uncurling his fingers and easing some of the stiffness from Keith keeping them so tense. “Eyes stay closed,” Shiro murmurs, followed by another kiss, before the blindfold comes off too. The cloth comes back, wiping away the dampness there. 

“Open slowly,” Shiro tells him, like he always does.

Keith nods, blinking back into the dimly lit room. The first thing he sees is Shiro smiling at him, expression achingly soft. “There you are. Hi baby.”

It’s hard to breathe, looking at him. This is who Keith gets to have. Who Keith gets to give himself to. He smiles helplessly back. “Hi.” It’s barely an exhale, and his voice is hoarse.

Shiro kisses his cheek, then shifts just enough to grab for the edge of the tray, sliding it closer. Keith had forgotten its existence. He cracks open a bottle of water and sticks in a straw before holding it up to Keith’s lips. Keith sucks it in eagerly, not bothering to try to take the bottle and hold it himself. Shiro fucking loves to coddle him and relishes every opportunity Keith allows. It’s such an amazingly small thing to give, especially at times like this.

He releases the straw once he’s drunk his fill and proceeds to let Shiro feed him a granola bar, give him some more water, and then feed him the grapes. He’s quiet all throughout, but it’s born of bliss, and he knows Shiro can tell. He keeps giving Keith the most adoring looks, eyes hooded with deep satisfaction. It makes Keith want to preen. 

“I was good,” he says eventually, once the tray is pushed away again and he’s fully cuddled into Shiro’s lap. His voice is still quiet, but it’s said with surety.

“God, so good,” Shiro replies immediately, brushing a strand of hair off Keith’s cheek. “You’re always so good. Everything I could ever want.”

Keith steeles himself, but this part is important too. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” There’s no underlying connotation; it’s not expectant or condescending or even curious. It’s simply a question. Shiro’s only asking because Keith wants to answer.

“For forgetting. That I…” he swallows. “That I’m not alone with how I feel. If I’m not feeling great.”

Shiro kisses his forehead. Smiles against his skin. “I’m always happy to remind you.”

It startles a laugh out of him, and he nuzzles closer. He loves Shiro so much. “I love you.”

Shiro sighs, and he sounds pretty damn blissed-out himself. “I love you too, baby.”   
  


**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on twitter now I guess!](https://twitter.com/justsayins) Mostly fandom. Currently? Mostly sheith.


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